


The Start of Everything

by greenecat



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, call me by your name type beat, very realistic to the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenecat/pseuds/greenecat
Summary: About a month after the events of the finale of season two, Shiv has confessed to Tom that she is no longer in love with him. Tom follows his first instinct and knocks on Greg’s door, but there is a maybe not so slight problem. Waystar Royco is suing Kendall and Greg for millions of dollars, and Tom and Greg stand on opposite ends of the fight. Despite the risk, over the course of three days, Tom and Greg find themselves falling in love. They just won’t admit to each other until they have no other choice.  A story about words that are hard to say. A story that burns, slowly.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. Oh Sweet Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prologue.

Shiv and Tom are at a standstill. She has the sense that if Tom even moves an inch, she will pounce. And scratch his eyes out. No, she is not looking to fuck him. They haven’t fucked in months. It’s just this anger the she feels behind her neck that she can’t name or place. Maybe she hates Tom. No, she doesn’t hate him. But she definitely doesn’t love him. And she is finally coming clean.

“Tom. It’s really plain and simple. I don’t love you anymore. And I’m sorry.”

She says this all with her hands on her hips.

Tom bites his lip, and then scrunches his eyes, as if he’s trying to hold in an explosion, an explosion that would burn them both. So he covers his mouth and backs away. Seeing him reach for the doorknob, Shiv tells him to stop. Tom pauses and then shakes his head.

“What is it Shiv,” he exhales.

Shiv opens her mouth and closes it. “I just—“ she pauses. She puts her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry Tom, you can go,” she states. “I thought I had something else to say, but I was wrong.”

“Did you ever love me?” Tom asks, staring at the ceiling. Shiv makes a motion to answer but then Tom cuts her off. “Actually I think I can answer that question. No. The answer is no.” Tom swings the door open and walks into the hallway. The door begins to close, creaking behind him. Shiv, suddenly nauseous, falls to her knees; maybe the explosion is in her too. But she opens her mouth and nothing comes out.

“Shiv?” she hears Tom say. She looks up, slowly. She hopes for a fleeting moment that he would join her on the floor. “Yes?” she responds. “Fuck you,” he says, smiling. He swiftly slams the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how it starts...
> 
> Hit me up at rapture2020.tumblr.com/ask if you want!
> 
> I made a spotify playlist in order of the song that goes with each scene: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7feHot2Soh5sJZlkUsxrXF?si=D7HOespqTOis7Ksf11iNAQ Just for funzies  
> The songs are also how I chose the title for each chapter!
> 
> The song for this chapter is: Oh Sweet Nuthin'--The Velvet Undergroud


	2. Thank You for Sending Me an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom knocks on Greg's door. The timing's a bit off.

Greg can’t sit still. So he gets up and starts to pace. He’s waiting on a call from Kendall that determines if he lives or dies. Greg gave some very important papers to Kendall about a month ago, and Waystar Royco has since launched a multi-million dollar lawsuit against Kendall and Greg because of the mere existence of those very papers. Greg could feel the sweat pooling in the small of his back, dripping down into the seam of his pants. Come on Kendall. Swim or drown. Let me know. Let me float.

Maybe he should have listened to his grandfather.

He tinkers around in the liquor cabinet. Even though he’s had a significant income for a bit now, he never quite acquired an expensive taste. Ten dollar tequila will do fine. Though it does not feel all that fine going down his throat. He shudders, and then checks his phone again. Come on Kendall. Any minute now. Greg sets down his glass and gets down on his knees. He prays: “Hello God,” he says, out loud. “Kind of weird just saying hello, and uh, I know I haven’t kept in touch these past few years, but I’m here now, and I was just wondering, could you please give me a sign that I’m going to be okay? That maybe, I didn’t fuck myself over, that maybe—

The doorbell rings and Greg lets out a high-pitched shriek.

Greg hobbles to his feet but does not move towards the door. Instead, he checks his phone. Maybe Kendall came to talk to him in person? And yet his feet remain glued to the floor. From behind the door, he hears a familiar voice.

“Greg? Are you okay?”

It’s Tom. It sounds like he’s laughing.

Greg clears his throat. “Uh…Hi Tom?”

He and Tom had not spoken since the lawsuit. They were poised on opposite sides of the battle, and both of them found it best to lose each other’s contacts. It was a definite loss, Greg always thought privately. As much as Tom berated him in the workplace, Greg once thought him to be one of his closest friends. Though he isn’t sure if he should be talking to him now. Seems risky. And definitely against the rules. He could already hear Kendall’s voice, stern and unfeeling, warning him that he would kill Greg if he fucked up even once.

He must have been joking, at least a little bit.

“Greg…are you going to open the door?”

Suddenly Greg’s limbs feel incredibly fluid. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. Unsure of what to do, he backs away from the source of the noise. Maybe Tom will leave him alone if he just gives it some time.

And yet the door opens. “Oh, the door was open. That’s nice,” Tom grins, cocking his head to the side. With an insincerely furrowed brow he asks, “Greg, why don’t you lock your door?” His concern is only an act, though, for only Greg to see. To Greg’s surprise, he has a bag of luggage in each hand.

Greg deicides that he has to take charge. He straightens his back and then blinks really hard, trying to force himself into a sharp sort of alertness, so he can reply wittily and convince Tom to go away, the way that any other member of the Roy family would. But Tom is already setting his luggage on the couch, taking off his shoes, and resting his feet on the coffee table.

“Fuck,” Greg says, even louder.

“Yes?” Tom replies.

Greg clears his throat. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t be here”

Greg’s head drops to the floor. This is harder than he expected. Why can’t he be more like Shiv, who can convince a group of interns to worship her by simply twinkling her eyes? He checks his phone again. Now would be a good time, Kendall. Now would be a great time.

“C’mon Greg. I’m your friend. And I’m in a bit of a situation.”

Greg looks directly at Tom. Tom is being earnest; he can see that clearly. Tom’s eyes pierce Greg, holding him in his place, but there is still a muddiness in his gaze. He will not be trusted, Greg determines. Greg inhales, resisting.

“You’re not just fucking with me? Because I’m not going to like, I don’t know-- I actually have a direct and active, _very active_ line to Kendall, so don’t try to mess with me all the sudden like I’m little old assistant Greg. I mean, because I think I’m really on top of my shit now. And I’m not going to let you…”

Greg struggles to find the words.

“Let me what,” Tom says evenly, with a glimmer behind his eyes.

“Let you fuck with me in the way that you used to.”

Tom nods slowly, running his hand against the couch as if he deeply enjoys the way the material feels against his skin. He smiles, watching his hand glide against the fabric, but then rises suddenly.

“Can I get a glass of water, Greg?”

Greg nods. As Tom passes him on the way to the sink, Greg gets the urge to grab him and wrestle him to the floor, but holds back. Tom averts his eyes.

As the water runs, Tom turns to Greg, with a detached frigidness in his face. “So tell me Greg,” Tom says. “Wouldn’t you say that this time around, it is you that fucked with me?”

“You were going to bring me down with you. You were going to let me drown.”

“I’m not so sure”

Tom has let the water in the cup overflow, and it spills onto his sleeves, the countertop.

“You royally fucked me.”

“Well…you royally fucked me more.”

Tom stands an inch from Greg’s face. Greg wonders if he’s going to scratch his eyes out. Tom seems like he’s just come from a fight to the death, his hair is disheveled, his shirt is uncharacteristically wrinkled. But instead Tom just laughs.

“Greg.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you drink such cheap tequila? Didn’t you learn anything from our little rendezvous’?”

Greg crosses his arms and chuckles. This is the Tom he is used to.

“I don’t know uh, Tom, that’s just the tequila I like.”

Tom, gulping his water down, moves to get his luggage from the couch.

“Well, we’re going to need to get better tequila. And maybe better vodka too. You remember the gold stuff?”

Greg smiles. “Yeah.”

But the smile on his face quickly disappears. Why is Tom here? It’s not to do shots with him, that’s for sure. He certainly can’t have him overhear his call with Kendall. And yet Tom is moving his luggage to Greg’s bedroom, calmly, with no hesitation in his stride. Greg walks briskly to the bedroom.

“Wait, Tom. Wait.”

Tom looks up from rummaging around in his suitcase.

“Oh yes Greg, I almost forgot to tell you. Me and Shiv, we—”

He clenches his teeth, abruptly losing his pompous air.

“—it’s over. I’m moving in with you.”

Greg’s phone rings, and Greg bolts from the bedroom, as if he could crash though a window and fly into the stars. It’s Kendall. Greg fumbles with the phone, almost drops it to the ground, catches it, and then answers.

“Listen Kendall I’m so sorry but I don’t think I can talk right now—”

“What do you mean you can’t fucking talk—”

“I’m just kind of in a situation—”

“Well fuck your situation, I think I figured out a way we could win.”

Greg leans back. This is what he needed. He’s not just swimming anymore, he’s gliding, he’s feeling the wind against his chest. He clenches his fist and shoots it up in the air. Yes. Everything is finally going to be okay.

Tom stares at him with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank You for Sending Me An Angel--Talking Heads


	3. I'm a Reasonable Man, Get Off My Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman gets on Tom's case for living with Greg. Shiv contributes.

It’s strange. Everything seems normal. Tom can already feel his eyes glaze over at the spreadsheets upon spreadsheets Roman has asked him to consolidate for that afternoon. It is strange, because Tom knows that two stories above him Logan Roy is sending out orders in preparation for war with his own son. Either that or he’s pissing on the carpet. Tom’s lips perk upwards at the thought. Tom moves his hand to rest on his left shoulder, gripping it, massaging it out. It hurts an alarming amount, that shoulder, must be a result of Greg’s inability to spend money on the things that actually matter. Like a comfortable mattress. That would be a start.

Tom took one look at the couch in Greg’s apartment and laughed. You want me to sleep on that? He said. It was the ugliest shade of brown leather, and it looked like no one had taken care of it since the eighties. Let’s be grown-ups, Tom said to Greg. Your bed is large. No one’s going to get cooties, not on my watch.

Greg laughed at that. It always felt good to make Greg laugh. Made him feel like his winning at a game he didn’t even know the rules to yet.

“Heyo Tom”

Tom looks up. There stands Roman, with maniacal smirk on his face.

“Hi Roman,” Tom replies, clasping his hands tightly together.

“Just want to say congratulations on no longer fucking my sister. Must have been a difficult decision, I can’t even begin to imagine.”

Tom found Roman’s grin to be aggravating to say the least. It didn’t hurt to hear that, Tom thinks to himself, it didn’t hurt, it didn’t hurt, but he can already feel his palms begin to sweat. Get it together Tom. Keep your head up. Play your part.

“I appreciate you saying that, Roman. Considering you imagine fucking your sister all of the time.”

Roman let out a strong and gumptious laugh. “Good one,” he remarked. “You’re sharp, very sharp. Maybe not sharp enough for my sister, but really who’s to say?” Roman slaps his hand against Tom’s left shoulder, and Tom winces. Roman’s grin only widens. “Oh I see. Tom is sensitive today.” Stupid bed. Stupid Greg. “But honestly do you need a place to live or something? Because I know of some youth hostels that might be in your pay grade.”

Tom rises from his chair and walks to the printer to collect some spreadsheets. He separates the spreadsheets by date. He makes sure that they are all in alphabetical order. He organizes them so they each go to the appropriate department. He says nothing. And yet Roman is still looking over his shoulder.

“Come on, Tom. Where are you living.”

The sternness of Roman’s tone surprises Tom.

Staring intently at the wall, Tom says, “Well, Roman. I have taken up momentary habitation with Greg.”

Roman begins to shake his head furiously. “I fucking knew it.” Roman takes a stack of Tom’s spreadsheets and throws it on the ground.

“Roman don’t fucking do this—”

Roman spits on a stack. “What is it with you two?” And then another. “Are your dicks just magnetically attracted to each other?” And then another. “Oh that’s a good one,” he says, admiring his spit. “But do you realize how this could seriously fuck us over?”

“I can trust Greg. I know how to keep him under my control.”

Suddenly Roman is grinning again.

“This is some next level fuckery Tom. I’m kind of proud of you that you’re fucking up this much.”

Tom puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. Roman is not as smart as he thinks he is, Tom realizes. The advantage of the situation, while obvious to Tom, has clearly passed right over Roman’s head.

“There’s really no need to worry Roman. I know how to keep Greg under my control. And to get from him what I want. What we all want.”

Roman nods slowly, tapping his fingers gently against his chin. He makes some noncommittal noises. But then abruptly rises to leave.

“Alright. Cool. You do you. Don’t fuck this up. Save the world. Yada yada. I think I’m going to jerk off in Dad’s office, if he’ll let me. HEY SHIV!”

Tom stands stick straight. There she is, in a fitted white suit, her hair cut sleek and angular. She is beautiful. But she looks like she has just seen a ghost.

“Yes, Rom?” She asks, moving her eyes away from Tom. Tom could cry, but she doesn’t look devastated in the least. Instead, she looks rather embarrassed.

Roman puts his hand around Tom’s waist and pulls him close. “Tom here is going fuck Greg romantically and passionately to help us win the fucking case! Isn’t that so noble?”

“That’s not true Shiv I—”

“I think that’s great, Rom.” Shiv’s face seems to be shrouded in clouds. She’s smiling, but her face also houses flickers of anger, of jealousy, of disappointment. “Have fun Tom. I know you will.”

“Alright get out. Both of you. Now.”

Roman smirks. “Ooooo Tom is bweing scwawy!”

Tom raises his fist at Roman and Roman backs away.

Shiv is already halfway down the hallway. Seeing that his sister has recused herself gracefully, Roman follows suit and turns to leave. Before he does, though, he makes one last remark.

“But from the bottom of my heart, Tom. Good luck. For real. Like, yeah.”

Tom nods, briefly mutters thank you, and then flicks his hand to motion for Roman’s exit. Roman slinks out the door. Tom puts his head in his hands, though in the darkness his head starts to spin, until he can no longer tell up from down; everything has started to blur. He misses Shiv, he misses her so much, but he went to Greg because Greg was a friend. A good friend. A friend who cared. Greg always cared in his strange, roundabout way. But now Tom has to fuck him over. He didn’t originally intend to do so though such an act must have always been implicit. It shouldn’t be that hard to get him to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Packt Like Sardines in a Crushed Tin Box--Radiohead


	4. There's a Whole World in There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tells Kendall that Tom has moved in with him. Kendall shares what he thinks is obvious.

Greg shifts back and forth in his seat. He’s over at Kendall’s doing whatever Kendall asks of him, which is virtually nothing, so Greg crosses and uncrosses his legs. It’s been like this for a little bit. Greg knows he should say something about Tom, but it’s hard to figure out a good time, between Kendall ravenously chewing pencils and him yelling “Fuck” into the phone. Frank is also here, doing the real work of preparing the documents for the lawsuit; sometimes Greg waves at him and Frank stares right through. Greg sinks further and further into his seat until only his head stands upright, his lanky legs billowing out from underneath the table. Greg sucks his teeth. Hm. The last time he remembers doing that is middle school. He does it again, louder, this time. Frank looks over, raises his eyebrows, and then looks away. Greg does it one more time, except this time some spit gets stuck in the back of his throat, and so he coughs, quite violently.

“What the fuck, Greg,” Kendall says in a monotone.

Greg tries to form words but then coughs even more. Between coughs he manages “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

Without flinching, Kendal continues: “Is there something you would like to share with the class, Greg.”

Maybe this is the time to bring up Tom? Greg reasons that he probably won’t get another chance. “Yes, uh, Kendall, I did think I should mention something to you, and I want to preface it by saying that it’s not really a big deal, but it could be a big deal, I guess, if you spin it a certain way, so I thought I should bring up this thing, if you want to know about this thing.”

Kendall aims a rubber band at Frank and then shoots it. It misses. “What’s the thing, Greg.”

“Okay well, you see, Tom’s moved in with me. Something about Shiv and I didn’t really have a choice—”

“Alright what the fuck,” Frank buts in. “Tom’s fucking behind the filing of this suit, and now he’s fucking sleeping in your house?”

“I didn’t want it either I actually think it’s a massive invasion of my privacy, but I couldn’t say no, you know, I thought you would understand?” Greg looks to Kendall in desperation.

“I understand that Tom is in love with you, yes,” Kendall says stoically, fiddling with another rubber band on his desk. Frank lets out a guffaw of laughter, mutters to himself, “fucking hell,” and then continues to mark a document in pen. Greg shifts in his seat once more. “No Kendall, I don’t—that’s not true. I think I would know if that were true.”

“What. Isn’t he spoon feeding you oatmeal. Scratching your back. Sleeping in the same bed as you every night.” This time Kendall aims for Greg and hits him right in the eye.

“That fucking hurt dude!” Greg rubs his eye until he can’t see straight. And no, we’re not—I mean—He is sleeping in my bed but my beds rather big so I don’t really think it’s that—”

Kendall lets out a high pitched noise that Greg isn’t sure he’s heard before. Seems like it would be on the frequency that only dogs would hear. Kendall covers his mouth until the noise builds into cacophonous, disjointed laughter. He keels over and putting his head on his desk only to rise rapidly and look to the ceiling, letting his reaction rumble throughout his whole body, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “Frank, Frank.” Kendall says when he can catch his breath. “We’re fine. We’re so fucking fine. Yeah sure Greg it’s whatever. You know what to do. Just be yourself.”

Greg looks down at his hands, and then slightly opens his mouth. He has no idea what Kendall means, or what he’s implicating, but he can feel it somewhere in his chest. “You mean you’re not scared I’m going to tell our secrets? Or something?”

Kendall inhales deeply. “No I’m not scared. I just think it’s more likely that he’s going to tell his secrets to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out at the Pictures--Hot Chip


	5. I'm Really Damn Sure that Anyone Can, Equally, Easily Fuck You Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has agenda. Sort of. At the end of the day he just wants to have fun.

Tom has to knock on the door again. In the confusion of his sudden relocation he forgot to ask Greg for a key. He checks his watch. Is Greg home? These days, he has no idea how Greg spends his time. He imagines that Kendall has replaced Tom’s old role and that Greg has found happiness in the new niche; under Tom’s supervision Greg always seemed quite reluctant, maybe even a little bit scared. Granted, Kendall’s probably not pelting Greg with water bottles. But one could never be sure. He pounds his fist against the door. No answer. “Greg!” He yells. “Greg! Greg!” He hears the thump of flat feet against stairs. “Tom! Tom!” There he is. He’s coming towards Tom, he’s out of breath, there is sweat forming on his upper lip.

“You look good,” Tom states.

He does look good. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is windswept and sticks up in funny ways. In good ways. He looks alive. Tom touches his own cheek, imagining that by contrast he must look rather grey.

“Well thanks…Tom. Is everything okay? I got here as fast as I could.”

Tom wriggles the doorknob. “Yes. It’s just this.”

“Oh.” Greg edges around Tom to get the key in the lock.

“Long day at the office?” Tom inquires. They step into the apartment, and Tom flings his coat onto the couch. “I could use a drink, Greg, how about you.”

Greg has yet to move from the doorway. “Yeah. Long day at the office.”

Tom sniffs at the tequila, and then the vodka. Poor excuses for a good time. He will not look at Greg. He needs a way in, a delicate way, a way doesn’t reveal his deceit. But instead he just says:

“What sort of things do you do in the office?”

Greg does a double take. “Things…I do? Well I do things. Yeah.” Greg still hasn’t come into the doorway. He looks like he might melt. “Tom, are you hiding something from me?”

Tom throws himself onto the couch. “That’s a silly question Greg. Of course I’m hiding something from you. In fact, I’m hiding many things from you. Things that are of various importance.” The couch is such a strange texture. Like if someone skinned a hairless cat and left it out in the sun to dry. Tom closes his eyes. He could feel himself beginning to make his way into Greg’s mind. Greg, who gets spooked so easily. Greg, who he knows so well.

Greg wipes his brow. “Cool. Well how about we don’t talk about any of those things. How about we keep those things top secret. Because I made some promises…and uh…I really don’t want to, well I’m not going to, I’m just not going to fuck them up.”

Greg’s voice sounds pained. And sharp.

“Promises to Kendall?”

“Promises to myself.”

Tom’s eyes bolt open. This is different. He sits up straight, leans back into the couch, and then collects himself, rubbing his hands against his face. He also had made promises. Promises that he can already feel fade away, as he pushes Roman’s grating voice out of his head. It’s Friday isn’t it. He and Greg should drink. A lot.

“Let’s go out,” says Tom. Seeing that Greg has remained frozen in his stance, he adds, with a dint of passion in his voice, “Me and you. Just for fun.” Greg looks at his hands. “I—” he mumbles. “I—well.” Tom leans over and brings his lips to Greg’s ear. “I’ll let it all go” he whispers. “I promise.”

When Tom pulls away, he notices goosebumps on Greg’s neck.

Greg runs to the sink and begins to splash water on his face. “I need to trust you,” he says, though the steady stream of water. “I do want to have fun. I miss having fun.”

Tom laughs. It’s impossible not laugh at the sight. Tom turns the faucet off and leans against the counter. “Of course you can trust me Greg. And I think I know just the place to go.”

Maybe Greg is trying to tackle him to the ground. It’s hard to tell because Tom’s just barely lost his footing, gripping onto the countertop as a tether. “Greg?” Tom asks. Greg releases. “Nothing,” Greg replies, in boyish embarrassment. “I just don’t think I realized before how much I missed you.”

Tom can feel color rise to his cheeks. Hopefully now he’s looking more alive. “I missed you too, Greg,” Tom says, as if he can’t decide between sarcasm and sincerity. He links Greg’s arms with his. “Let’s go. We’re supposed to hate each other, and my wife just told me she’s no longer in love with me. Don’t you think it’s ripe for a grand old time?”

A hint of a smirk appears on Greg’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark Center of the Universe--Modest Mouse


	6. Baby Forgive Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg have a night on the town. Some confessions are made, some are avoided.

Tom has stopped dead in front of a strip club and Greg’s heart has dropped to his feet.

“You ever had a lap dance before, Greg?” Tom asks. Greg winces, and Tom chuckles, satisfied. “Oh you’ve never had a lap dance, this is so exciting! Consider it the next step in your indoctrination!” Tom is already running towards the entrance, but Greg can’t bring himself to budge. He looks across the street to see if there is an escape, and he focuses in on what seems to be a dive bar a block away.

“Greg. What in the world are you pointing to.” Tom looks at him with a puzzled sort of hilarity.

Greg realizes that he has in fact taken to pointing at that bar, like a forlorn wanderer, and he quickly lowers his hand. “I’m sorry, Tom,” he says. “I just don’t think I can deal with—” he begins to aimlessly wave his arms in the air “—all that, tonight.” Tom nods. It looks like he’s actually listening, and Greg feels emboldened. “Don’t you want to just go a normal sort of bar? Like the one over there?”

Tom pauses, and then smiles. “Anything for you Greg. Of course.”

Greg is not entirely sure what he means by that.

They arrive at the bar, and it’s packed wall to wall. Tom grabs Greg’s arms and pushes through the crowd towards the bartender.

“Two vodka sodas, please,” Tom says, resting his elbows on the bar. While the outside of the bar has a storefront of almost entirely varnished wood, the inside is colorful, the walls painted in a range of hot pinks and sky blues. Flags hang from the ceiling, flapping with the movement of those dancing in the middle of the floor, who move with fervor and viscosity, as if they have left behind their bones when they walked in the door.

More notably, there was not a single woman in sight.

“Greg. Greg. Greg. Greg.” Tom is poking Greg rather hard. Greg looks up from his drink. “Tom, what.” Tom’s face is contorted into a smile, but it almost looks like there are tears in his eyes. “Greg. This is a gay bar.”

Greg stands up suddenly and sits back down. He has accidentally spilled his drink all over the counter, and then man next to him is giving him a look. He clears his throat, coughs, and then clears his throat again. “Are you okay with that? I mean—I’m okay with that. I mean there’s no real reason why it wouldn’t be okay—”

Tom’s hand is covering his mouth. “Yes, Greg,” he says slowly. “It’s really okay with me. Plus. It looks like you’ve got an admirer.”

Greg looks down and sees that a drink has appeared in front of him. The bartender winks, and a man in a dark suit waves from across the bar. Greg immediately looks away. “Tom. Fuck. You have to help me. What the fuck am I supposed to do.”

Tom seems to have withdrawn into himself, staring out the window at the men who lean against each other, smoking cigarettes, feeling a simple sort of joy that Greg is sure Tom hasn’t felt in a while. Greg brushes his hand against Tom’s face and immediately regrets it, but Tom’s face is soft. Does the rest of his body feel like this? Greg quickly brings his hands to his eyes, no, no, that’s not the helpful thought to have. And yet Greg’s faint brush appears to have woken Tom out of his stupor, because he’s started to rub glitter onto his hands.

“Want some?” Tom asks.

Greg nods, and Tom imitates Greg’s brush, depositing glitter all over Greg’s face.

“What the fuck, man!” Greg laughs, and tries to smush glitter into Tom’s eyes, his lips, leaving glimmering outlines around his facial features. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Tom mentions, “It seems we have scared you suitor away.”

Indeed. He was now passionately kissing another man in a silver tank top. 

Tom rises from his seat, and gulps the rest of his drink down. “I think we should dance, Greg.” He bops his body awkwardly up and down to the beat of the music, failing to figure out the right place to put his hands. “I don’t know Tom,” Greg replies. “I really don’t dance ever. Like at all. “

“Oh shut up,” Tom says. “Just come.”

In the thick of the dancers it is unbelievably hot. Tom’s got his hands in fists by his chest, his head rocking to the music, his eyes closed. The best Greg can do is vibrate back and forth. It’s not long, however, before someone slams into Greg’s back, thrusting Greg fully into Tom’s grip. “You okay?” Tom asks, propping Greg back up. Greg nods, but notices that neither of them have withdrawn their hands. Slowly they begin to rock, and Greg feels the outline of Tom’s body against his skin, the contours, the mountains. And then Greg begins to cry. Greg cries and cries until Tom whispers to him, let’s go outside for a cigarette, and guides Greg outside with him.

The first thing Tom does is scream into the open air. He then sits down, lights a cigarette, and leans his head against the storefront. Greg approaches him slowly. “Can I get one,” Greg says, holding out his hand. Tom obliges and hands him a cigarette. “Put it in your mouth,” he says. Let me light it for you.” As Greg leans his head towards Tom’s, Tom stares at him intently, without blinking. Greg looks away.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay,” Greg says.

Tom exhales deeply. “Fine by me.”

Greg wishes so bad he could see the stars, but all he has is streetlights. He looks to the ground.

“Talk to me about something else, please?” Greg asks.

Tom lets out a hollow laugh. “I’ll tell you what. You’re going to get fucked in court. Kendall has so much baggage, some that he doesn’t even know about. I mean he hasn’t even got the slightest idea.”

Greg shakes his head. There’s a sour taste in this mouth. ”No Tom.”

“No?”

Greg meets Tom’s eyes. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do this right. “The DOJ has decided to back us. Kendall only told me last night. But if we win, you, Logan, everyone, you’re going to go to federal prison.”

Tom immediately casts his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Greg manages to say. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Tom looks at him, but only from the corner of his eye. Greg can hear his teeth grind, can feel him painstakingly swallow his spit. In a small voice, a voice so small that Greg didn’t even know Tom was so capable of it, Tom asks him,

“Is there any way out?”

“Well I have thought about this, and I have talked about Kendall about this, but if Logan were to step down, and if Kendall were to take his place, then we could have a deal. But there’s about only one person I can think of who would be able to convince Logan of that.”

Tom laughs. It feels good to hear Tom laugh, but then Greg sharply reminds himself of where he is, where he’s standing, how he feels. “It’s Shiv, isn’t it?” Tom says with heaviness in his eyes. Greg nods. “But Tom I—I don’t want you to go away. That would be—yeah. I want you to stay here.”

Tom gazes at Greg blankly at first, but then with hunger. “I’ll stay,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I might be the only person who can figure this out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Forgive Me--Robyn


	7. Got to be Some More Change in My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiv can't sleep. And then she sees something strange in the night.

Shiv rolls over onto her side. Next to her lies a man with broad shoulders, a man with thick arms and a heavy brow, who she thought best to be her distraction for the night. The sex, however, was underwhelming, and left her holding in a grimace. When she was on top him he kept saying to her, you’re so beautiful, you’re so beautiful, and she thought to herself, I know what I look like. The constant reminder was unnecessary.

But now she can’t sleep. This man, his name is Ryan, is snoring like a leaf blower. She hits him with a pillow, he mumbles groggily “thank you,” and then lies on his back and begins to snore once more. Shiv exhales. She flings her legs over the side of the bed and fumbles on her bedside table for a cigarette. There it is. She clasps it between her fingers and then puts on shoes and a robe. On the elevator ride down, she is struck by the loneliness of the box she is in, a solitary box, a box of empty space. She wishes there were ten other people on the elevator with her, who would scrunch her together until she couldn’t breathe. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so incomplete.

It’s only been a day or so since she decided to tell Tom the truth. She was confident in her decision, and then she wasn’t, and then she was, and then she wasn’t, and all she knows now is that she just wants to feel warm, and that Tom is warm. But does she love him? Shiv shakes her head at the thought.

The street is sparsely populated with twenty-somethings who still think they’re invincible enough to drink a bottle of wine to themselves, or at least that’s what Shiv suspects has happened considering a girl with pink hair is keeled over, vomiting on the sidewalk. She lights her cigarette and drags so deeply that she immediately starts to cough, now she’s feeling something, she thinks to herself, hey, at least I’m feeling something. Even if it is just the texture of blood in my mouth.

She takes another drag, and that’s when she sees him. She can spot Tom from a mile away. And who is that with him? Is it Greg? She quickly determines that she cannot be noticed. She will have to speak to them if they see her, and it’s really a little bit too late in the day for that. She sidesteps around the corner of her apartment building, craning her head over her shoulder. He cannot be allowed to see her, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t take a look.

Tom and Greg approach, but she sees no glimmer of recognition. Perfect. Shiv holds the cigarette close to ger face, obscuring the outlines of her eyes, the angles of her cheekbones. As they get near, it occurs to Shiv that they are walking rather close together, playing a strange sort of game with their fingers. Their fingers dance, grazing each other, until either Greg or Tom swiftly draws them away. This is a language that Shiv does not understand.

She takes a seat on the sidewalk once they pass. She’s finished her cigarette but she’s not ready to go upstairs. She gazes at her own fingers, and begins to interlock them, to intertwine, and she wonders for a moment what it would be like if it were someone else’s fingers touching her own. And then she understands. Tom and Greg, they must be falling in love. Why else would they be so afraid to touch each other, if only to do it again and again? Shiv feels a pebble beneath her palm and casts it into the street. But falling in love with Greg? Really? He always acted like such a tongue-tied idiot. But at the same time, she can’t remember the last time she felt like falling in love. Something about struggling to believe in such a feeling. After all, she’s spent most of her life loving people so that they could be used, or being loved by people so that they could use her. This was true in romance, but also in her family. Everybody loved each other all slanted in her family. Everybody loved each other wrong. And then look at Tom trying to hold hands with a boy, the boy who never quite fit in with the family’s wrongness. Suddenly she feels proud. Good for you, Tom, she thinks to herself. You might have just figured out a way out this mess.

Out of my mess, she corrects herself on the elevator back up. You might have just figured out a way out of my mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NYC--Interpol


	8. La Mer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom tries to save himself, but Shiv is one step ahead of him.

A sharp sunlight casts itself over Tom’s eyes. Tom’s eyes flutter open. He lies there for a second or two, trying to remember where he is, and why he is there, until he bolts upwards, remembering. Next to him lies Greg who is nestled into the corner of the bed, his knees folded into his chest. Tom has never seen him look so small. “Greg,” he prods. “Greg. Greg.” Greg groans and then hides his face in the covers. It doesn’t seem like he’ll wake up for a bit. Checking the time on his phone, though, Tom sees he has to start his day. In fact, his whole fate depends on it. He unlocks his phone, his fingers hovering over his conversation with Shiv. Does he have to do this? It doesn’t seem like he has a choice. Can we talk, he types into the message bar. Better to keep it simple, he thinks; he wants Shiv to suspect as little as possible. To his confusion, Shiv replies immediately: of course. I was just about to text you. Let’s meet at the café on 5th and 23rd in an hour. Sound good to you?

Yes. I’ll be there, Tom replies.

He looks over to Greg once more. It was strange, how they went to bed last night without speaking to each other once. As if they were fundamentally afraid of something they could not name. Tentatively, he rests a hand on Greg’s back. He’s warm, surprisingly warm, and Tom realizes there’s something narcotic about it, that the warmth makes Greg feel like home to Tom, like he could live in this touch for the rest of his life. So why, then, did Greg cry? It was as if when they touched it undid every fiber that kept Greg together. He shouldn’t keep touching him, then, Tom concludes. He can’t be selfish. He draws his hand away. Greg begins to murmur, and Tom, in shame, backs his way off of the bed. “Tom,” Greg says, with his eyes closed. “Yes?” Tom replies. Greg opens his eyes and brings his gaze to meet Tom’s. They remain there, suspended for a moment, as Tom expects Greg to burst into pieces.

Instead, Greg just says: “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Tom sighs and changes out of his pajamas.

When he arrives at the café Shiv is already there, sipping on a mug of coffee that looks to be the size of her face. She smiles at Tom an empty smile and then Tom takes a seat at the stool next hers. But they’re sitting too close, a little too close for Tom’s comfort, so he slowly edges his stool away from her. It makes a loud screeching noise, the stool against the floor, and Shiv watches with her eyebrows furrowed. She inhales, as if she were about to speak, but then closes her mouth again. She sips her coffee. She then says to Tom, “How about you start.”

Tom looks out the window and then back at Shiv. “We’re fucked, Shiv,” he says, with a hardness in his somber tone. “I did…what I said I would do, I kind of got all inside of Greg’s head, you know, like I said I would and, well he’s told me that Kendall’s got the DOJ is his pocket. And that because of that, we’re basically all going to die very slow and very painful deaths.”

Shiv taps her fingers against the counter. “Well that’s fucking horrible, Tom” she states. She seems angry, incredulous even, and yet she has a hint of a smile on her face. “Let me guess. There’s only one way out of this. It’s if—”

“It’s if you talk to Logan and ask him to—”

“It’s if I ask Dad to step down and let Kendall take his place. I know.”

Tom’s eyes widen. “How the fuck did you know that.”

Shiv takes a large gulp of her coffee and then sets it down. “That’s all that Kendall’s ever wanted, isn’t it? I always had a suspicion that he never really wanted to dismantle Waystar in the way the lawsuit suggests his does. He’s just wants to be the big man. Which I get. We’ve all wanted that at some point.” She pauses, running her hand through her hair. “Even you did, remember? Even I did. But now we’re here.”

Tom nods. He has missed Shiv’s sharpness, her searing intelligence. Her hair is blown back from her face, and the shape of her mouth reminds Tom of what it’s like to kiss it. But there’s a coldness between them now. Tom is sure that if he reached out to touch her, it would feel like ice, freezing, and hard to grasp. She talks like she has decided to forget what it was like to know him. That remembering is a task she reluctantly completes. He has to focus now, however, he can’t be bothered with the lacking he feels between them. He needs be free. He needs to be safe. He doesn’t quite feel out of the water just yet.

“So will you talk to Logan?”

“I think I have a good chance of talking some sense into him, yes.”

"YES!” Tom exclaims, rising out of his seat. His fellow patrons of the café look at him in disdain, some of them scared, bringing their laptops closer to them. Shiv laughs a small laugh. Tom doesn’t know what to do but hug her, and so he does, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Thank you so fucking much,” he says. “I didn’t know you still had it in you to save my life.”

“Oh I’m not done yet,” Shiv says playfully. “I’m not going to do any of this until you tell Greg how you really feel.”

Tom backs away. “Excuse me?” he blurts out. And then, in a whisper: “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You said I was saving your life. Well, this is me trying to do that in more ways than one.”

Tom is speechless. Shiv leans closer.

“Tom, do you remember what it feels like to love without pain?”

It feels as though Tom’s head is pulsing, electricity vibrating all the way to his feet. He breathes deeply, and the atmosphere feels rich in his lungs. He shakes his head, no, but then remembers the way that Greg clutched him last night in those seconds that felt like hours. How Tom could only think to himself, how viciously beautiful this is. How visceral. How astonishing.

Shiv raises his eyebrows. Tom’s hands are on his lips, in prayer. “Go,” she says, plainly, sincerely. Tom rises and follows the electricity home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La Mer--Nine Inch Nails


	9. Marigold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom comes home.

Greg stares at his reflection in his coffee. For some reason, Tom is no longer in his apartment. He left without a note. Greg wonders if he has left for good, and he stretches his arm at the thought, his palm facing the doorknob, willing it to move. Tom can’t be gone, not now, not yet. Greg has the sense that there’s so much he needs to say, though he’s not quite sure where that needing comes from. Words swirl in jumbles all around his brain. Need to. Need to. Say something. He clasps his mug tightly. He’s just not sure what.

He hears a knock at the door. “Greg?” screams the man on the other side. “I forgot my key. Sorry. Can you let me in?”

Greg pauses. If he opens the door, he has no idea what he’ll do. The thought scares him. Perhaps he’ll just fling his body against Tom, and fling it hard until both of them hit their heads against the wall. Maybe then they’ll forget the past few days. Maybe Tom will make fun of him, and Greg will stammer and laugh uncomfortably. Tom will give Greg some menial tasks, and Greg will fetch Tom his expensive coffee. They’ll never find out what really waited for them behind that door.

“Greg?” Tom yells again.

With his hand quivering, Greg reaches for the doorknob. He feels weak, dizzy. He has no other choice. He swings the door open, and Tom stares at Greg from underneath himself, his hands in his pockets, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Hi. Tom.” Greg manages.

Tom blinks a long blink. “Huh.”

Neither of the men move. Greg’s heart beats in his ears. Tom gives Greg an inquisitive look, a look that says, now how are you _really,_ but Greg shakes his head. The words in his brain feel congealed, lumped together.

“Can I least come inside?” Tom asks. “Once I can come inside I think I’ll be able to shed some light on what’s going on.”

Greg moves to the side, allowing Tom to pass. Tom sits on the couch, his coat remaining on. “Greg, can you look at me,” Tom requests. Greg realizes that his eyes have been locked on a painting, an abstract painting, a painting of squares and circles. Greg places a hand on the painting to see if he can enter it. The painting is flat. He turns to face Tom.

“Can you just tell me what you want from me. Please. What you moving in, you living with me is all for. Because I know Tom, I know you wouldn’t just do this if you liked me. I know you have some goal, or motive, or something, and I don’t—I can’t let myself—you know what I mean.” Greg wipes the sweat from his hands on his pants. “I’m sorry.”

Tom leans back into the couch, and then looks at his own hands, holding them in front of him as if he were examining their bumps and crevices. “What if, though,” Tom replies. “What if I was just doing this because I liked you.”

Greg’s mouth opens slowly. He holds back the urge to run out the door, into the open air where he wouldn’t have to acknowledge this monster of a feeling. But Tom’s gaze won’t let him move. It’s always been this way, hasn’t it. “Are you?” he ekes out. “Do you…”

“Yes Greg, I’m not going to federal prison. Also, I’m fucking in love you.”

Greg sits down on the ground and buries his face in his hand. It’s as if his organs have begun to tear themselves apart, as if his ribs are just barely able to contain them. He struggles to catch his breath. Tom joins him on the floor, his hand tracing figure eights on Greg’s back. “You know,” Tom continues. “It took me a rather long time to love someone like you.”

Greg raises his head. “Like me?”

Tom nods “Yes. Someone so untouched by the grey sort of muck that fills everybody else. I have to say, Greg, I think in that way you are exceptional. You are—” Tom chokes up, pauses, and then shakes his head. “You’re everything. I’m sorry. Somehow you’ve become everything.”

Greg embraces Tom, bringing Tom’s head next to his. “I don’t know how,” Tom whispers to into Greg’s ear. “I don’t know how.”

Greg grips Tom tightly. “It’s okay,” he replies. It as if the rupture in his chest has been swallowed by the sun, and he too begins to feel the presence of tears. “It’s okay?” Tom asks. Greg nods vigorously. “Can I kiss you?” Greg asks sheepishly. “Believe it or not, I’ve been wondering about what that would feel like for a very long time.”

Tom kisses Greg hard, their hands gripping fervently the nape of each other’s necks. As they draw away, Greg begins to laugh. Tom grins, punches Greg lightly in the chest, and then asks, “What. What is it.” Greg looks to the ceiling. “Nothing. I mean, everything, right? I love you. I fucking love you.”

Tom chuckles. “Do you want a high five?”

“Yes,” Greg responds. “I would fucking love a high five.”

Tom holds his hand in the air, and Greg moves it slap it, though not before Tom quickly draws it away. “Oh fuck you,” says Greg. Greg tackles Tom to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is: Marigold--Pinegrove
> 
> MUCH LOVE TO EVERYBODY THANK YOU FOR READING <3 
> 
> Tell me what you thought! I'm at rapture2020.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> This is how it starts...
> 
> Hit me up at rapture2020.tumblr.com/ask if you want! 
> 
> I made a spotify playlist in order of the song that goes with each scene: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7feHot2Soh5sJZlkUsxrXF?si=D7HOespqTOis7Ksf11iNAQ Just for funzies  
> The songs are also how I chose the title for each chapter!
> 
> The song for this chapter is: Oh Sweet Nuthin'--The Velvet Underground


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